A Match Into Water
by explodedchildren
Summary: I watched TRF again this weekend, so I had to write something to get everything out of my system...here you go! Completely original, naturally *cough sarcasm cough* Anyway, it's from John to Sherlock through texts, with a kind of a happy ending 'cause I needed one. Johnlock if you're looking for it, and the title is a Pierce The Veil song. It's amazing, check it out! Or don't...


**A Match Into Water**

10:03

Sherlock. What are you doing? It's ten pm and I just got home from the hospital. Lestrade brought me. I think he was trying not to cry. So was I, but I failed. I don't even know why I was crying, because you'd be angry at me if you knew. It would make me seem sentimental, and you weak. But it's like it's not real, Sherlock. I can't believe you're not here. –JW

10:37

Kettle's boiled. Are you coming back? –JW

10:42

Sherlock. Please. This can't be happening. –JW

11:56

I'm going to bed now. Will you be here when I wake up? –JW

11:57

Please? –JW

One day later:

8:32

I didn't sleep. You didn't come back. –JW

8:46

I made you a cup of tea. Please come home. –JW

8:59

I promise not to shout at you if you put eyeballs in boxes of eggs again. –JW

9:03

Please? –JW

9:05

What are you waiting for? Should I apologise? I feel like I should. You apologised to me once. It was sweet of you, even if it was an experiment. –JW

9:06

I'm sorry. –JW

3:07

There's paperwork, Sherlock. It's very dull, god knows what you'd do if you were here. Though I suppose if you were here, the paperwork wouldn't be. –JW

3:19

Lestrade keeps ringing to ask if there's anything he can do. I think he just wants to forget, but he can't. It still confuses me when he asks if I want any help with anything. You are not dead, Sherlock. It is not possible. –JW

4:03

I always thought I'd die first, you know, even if it was only because I was older than you. And if you died, it would be taking someone else with you. I suppose I was right about that part. Moriarty's dead. –JW

5:17

Mrs Hudson is crying. I don't think she's stopped since I phoned her from the hospital. I keep finding tears on my face, and I don't know where they've come from or why they're there. This can't be real. –JW

6:29

She's trying to get me to eat. I can't. You wouldn't if it were you. You never eat. –JW

6:31

*Ate. Never ate. Past tense, Sherlock. Why am I talking in past tense? You're not dead. –JW

7:14

Please don't be dead. –JW

Two days later:

4:13

It's four in the morning, Sherlock. Four in the morning. And you're not playing your violin, or snoring on the sofa, or making a mess or even making any noise. Why are you so quiet? –JW

7:12

I must have fallen asleep, because I just woke up. I don't want to wake up if you're not going to. –JW

12:54

Mrs Hudson shouted at me because I still won't eat. What was it you used to say to her? When she fussed? I don't know. One day, I'm not going to know anything about you anymore. I'll forget. Will you forget me? –JW

1:06

Please just answer me. –JW

11:03

We went to see you. Your body. That's all you are, a body. Mrs Hudson came out crying, so I couldn't go in. But Mycroft was there in his suit with his cigarettes, and I went in with him. And I smoked when I came out. I think I realise why you used to, now. It made everything go away for a couple of minutes. –JW

11:09

They'd done you all wrong. Your hair was combed and you looked so calm and peaceful. You never looked calm and peaceful once in your life, Sherlock. Did you? Not while I knew you... Knew. Past tense. Why? You're not dead. I know it. –JW

Three days later:

6:08

I went out today. To the shop. I bought your favourite biscuits and now there's no one to eat them. But you're everywhere, Sherlock. On the news, in the papers...they're even doing a parody of it on Eastenders. Only they got one thing wrong. Everyone did. They believed his lie, Moriarty's lie. They don't think you're real. But I know you're real. You are real and you are not dead. I believe in Sherlock Holmes. –JW

9:04

I wrote on my blog. This is possibly – no, definitely – the biggest thing I've ever written about. Yet it was the hardest thing to write. It's normally so easy, second nature, just like breathing. I can't believe I did it. Can't believe I forced the words out. Don't worry, though. I didn't tell them you're still alive. I thought you might be angry if I did that. –JW

Four days later:

2:03

It's the middle of the night and I can't sleep, but then again, when can I? I decided to check my blog, and the comments are phenomenal. It hasn't even been 12 hours yet, and there are already over 3000. And the hits. They're off the scale, I swear to god. Half the comments agree with me, y'know. Some people still believe. You were right: you can't kill an idea. And they all have my idea, to spread the word, keep the faith. _I believe in Sherlock Holmes_. It's everywhere. –JW

10:01

You're on the news, Sherlock. It's the headlining story. You were mentioned before, on the local news, but this is national, and this is the News at Ten. You're the biggest story. There have been over one million hits to the blog post in 12 hours. _One million_. You are a miracle. –JW

Five days later:

11:42

It's almost noon and I only just woke up. I suppose I'm used to you banging about or breaking something or shouting me. It's strange without you here. I don't like it. –JW

11:57

Would you come home, if I asked you nicely? What would it take? A beg? A plea? A written request? A threat? A guilt trip? Would anything make you come back? –JW

11:59

You never reply anymore. You always used to reply. You'd outlive God to have the last word. So why are you silent now? No one can silence Sherlock Holmes. –JW

12:01

Or maybe death can. –JW

12:02

No. That's stupid. You're not dead. –JW

12:21

Are you? –JW

2:03

Mrs Hudson just shouted at me again. Apparently I haven't eaten since...well, you know. I wasn't aware of this, I hadn't really noticed. You always said you'd forget to eat, forget to sleep...I never really understood how that was possible before. I understand now. Everything else seems so irrelevant. It's irrelevant: eating, sleeping, breathing. I don't see the point in anything anymore. –JW

2:04

It's too late, isn't it? To understand, I mean. –JW

2:06

I feel sick now. –JW

8:47

I'm going out. I have to. Everything here reeks of you. I feel like an intruder in your house, your life. I can't stay here, and Mrs Hudson is so upset, and so desperate to look after me... It's heartbreaking. Please, Sherlock, you've broken her heart. Come back. For her. Please. –JW

Six days later:

11:23

I only just woke up; slept late again. I forgot to tell you what I saw last night. Graffiti, in that damned yellow spray paint. On an alleyway wall at first, but then it seemed to follow me home. It was sprayed on the side of a bus, and then on the pavement, and then over posters everywhere I looked. I can't have been hallucinating: Lestrade saw it too. _I believe in Sherlock Holmes_. That's what it said._ I believe in Sherlock Holmes._ –JW

8:24

Mycroft's seen it too. He just rang me. There's an army, Sherlock, I know it. A minority still believe in you. And I'll make it the majority, I'll make it everybody, I'll do the exact opposite of what you asked, because I owe that much to you at the very least. Everyone will know it. Sherlock Holmes was not a fraud. Sherlock Holmes was real. Sherlock Holmes is real. Sherlock Holmes is not dead. He can't be. –JW

9:36

You can't be. –JW

One week later:

3:27

I'm exhausted, but I can't sleep. When will this end? Can't you just make it go away? –JW

3:31

Please? –JW

Nine days later:

8:27

Well, I'm up, and I'm ready, and I don't know what I'm doing. This is all so much like a dream. In one hour and thirty three minutes your funeral will begin. Funeral. You're too young and too clever. I don't understand it. Though I suppose I never really understood you. Please, Sherlock. Please? Just be alive, that's all I want. You don't even have to reply. Just be alive. –JW

8:32

Though I wouldn't mind if you did reply. –JW

11:06

Today was the worst day of my life. You bastard. –JW

Two weeks later:

11:25

It was almost a week. I tried to stop, because you weren't replying. We visited your grave today. I asked you to be alive, like always. I thought you might have heard me. Even kicked the headstone. It didn't work, though. It never works. –JW

Three weeks later:

2:43

God help me, I think I'm starting to believe them. Not about you, of course, never about you. You're still in the news and on the covers of the papers, but you're not the main story anymore. They've interviewed all sorts of twats. Old school mates, and university friends, apparently. Now I can't imagine you having friends at school or university. No offence, obviously. But it's hardly likely, is it? With how you are and how other people are... –JW

2:45

How you were, I mean. _Were_. –JW

2:47

That's what I meant when I said I'm starting to believe them. Mycroft keeps trying to convince me, but I can't comprehend it. How have you impacted so hugely on me in such a short space of time? You are dead. Sherlock Holmes is dead. My best friend, the one and only consulting detective in the world, and the most irritating dick I shall ever know, is dead. Dead. Dead dead dead. Six feet under, no heart beat, no voice, no amazing deductions or arrogant displays or temper tantrums. Nothing but decay. You always said your mind would rot without your work. I never thought you would rot because of it. –JW

One month later:

10:49

I tried to stop again. It didn't work. I need to talk to you, Sherlock. Please reply. –JW

Five weeks later:

8:17

Oh my god. It's true, isn't it? It's really bloody true. You're dead. Oh my... –JW

9:08

Please. For me. For Mrs Hudson, for Lestrade, for Mycroft, for your mother, for Molly, for Irene, for London, for the criminals or the victims or anyone who even knows your name. Just don't be dead. Please. –JW

6:09

I started work again today, anyway. At the surgery. It's ever so dull, to come home and have the house empty. No one reminds me to buy milk or demands I immediately purchase white spirit and mayonnaise for an experiment. It's boring without you. I might just shoot at the smiley for a while. –JW

Five weeks, three days later:

9:02

I walked home from work today, past the river. Do you remember the time when you ran after that rapist and fell in? You were sick for weeks afterwards, and moodier than ever, because you kept getting headaches that made it hard for you to think. –JW

Six weeks later:

8:57

I walked past the river again. I wanted to jump in. It would be so easy you know, to just make it all go away. You went away easily, after all. ...Such a stupid little _human_ thing to do. What were you _thinking_? –JW

9:22

Sherlock. Please. Just come home. I need you, you don't understand...you'd never understand something like this. Sentiment, you'd say. A chemical defect. That's all. Just a defect in my brain. Oh, please, just come back. –JW

Six weeks, five days later:

11:34

You're not dead. I know it. I saw you. I always see you, but this time it was different. You were blonde and you didn't have your coat, nothing at all like I remember. Maybe I truly am insane now. I think I like it better this way. –JW

Seven weeks, two days later:

6:23

I don't think I'll go to work today. I might just lay here and not think of you. Everything else reminds me of you. Being alone just reminds me of being alone. And if I don't think about why I'm alone, I could convince myself you were just a dream and there's no point being miserable. –JW

7:44

I phoned in sick. It's not working, though. I'm still miserable. –JW

11:09

Oh, for god's sake, just come home. –JW

3:57

We need milk. I don't like black tea. –JW

5:06

I suppose I'll just have to buy it myself then. –JW

5:08

Tomorrow, though. I don't think I want to go outside today. –JW

Two months later:

9:00

Two months, eh? I'm at work. Smoking. I smoke now. Yes. Not very professional, is it? Still. I don't often. Just when I don't want to think, or when Mycroft's around. I ought to blame him for it, but I'm the one who gives in every time. Does he smoke? He does when I'm there... Hmm. I'd better go. I miss you. Everybody does. –JW

5:54

I visited your grave again on the way home. Avoided the Thames. No one would pull me out if I jumped in. You would have. I don't think I'd want you too, though. –JW

Ten weeks later:

7:04

My hand started shaking again today. My limp came back almost immediately, but I thought my hands would be fine. They just took ten weeks to realise, I think. I was in the surgery, with an old lady with bronchitis, and it just started shaking and wouldn't stop. I had to go outside and smoke. Smoke. Again. It wasn't so violent afterwards, but it didn't go away. I think they're starting to notice I'm not all there. But of course I'm not. Half of me is in a coffin at the cemetery. –JW

Ten weeks, two days later:

11:33

I'm not going to text you anymore. You're dead. You are dead. Dead. And you never reply. You're just dead. Just not here, not alive...nothing. How did that happen? I'm sorry. I should have noticed. But I didn't, and now you're dead. So I'm not going to text you anymore. –JW

Seven months later:

2:45

I made it four and a half months. But it's exactly seven today, since you... –JW

2:47

It's exactly seven months today. Since you jumped. Since you died. I hate you, Sherlock Holmes. You insufferable bastard. I guess you really were selfish, right to the end. You never thought how much it would hurt us. Any of us. –JW

Nine months, four days later:

6:09

I saw Mycroft today. He was with the blond man. Do you remember me mentioning him? Like you, but blond, shorter hair, darker skin and no coat. Mycroft saw me, but the other man didn't. He turned around as soon as he saw me, as well. As if he was hiding something. But he phoned and asked me to meet him next week. I might not go. What would be the point? –JW

6:59

I checked my blog for the first time in three months today. The hit counter might as well be broken, for all the millions of views that one post got. But the comments...people have seen you, Sherlock. First they saw you brown-haired, then short-haired, then blond-haired, then tanned. The newer the comments are, the less 'you' look like you. I think they're all crazy, just like me. But there's new graffiti every day, and there's more than one person doing it. You've got an empire, Sherlock. Not just fans or followers like before, but an empire. Like Moriarty's, but not quite so evil. It's starting to seem like a cult. –JW

10:37

Please be alive. I'm not giving up just yet. –JW

Nine months, twelve days later:

8:43

You are real, Sherlock Holmes. I saw you. I swear to god I saw you. Blond and tan and thinner, but definitely you. You didn't see me. You never see me. –JW

Ten months later:

7:19

I met a girl today. She's called Mary and she's beautiful. In a lot of ways, she reminds me of you. I think it's her eyes: they're as deep and as pained and as shield-like as yours. _The eyes are the window to the soul_, they used to say. Both you and she clearly have no intention of exchanging information about your souls. Still, I can try. I think she might be worth it. –JW

8:21

Please don't try to scare her off. –JW

8:35

Thanks. –JW

Eleven months, three weeks later:

8:23

Mary left. They do, they always leave. Not me, I mean, she didn't leave me. She left the country. She's going to visit her sister in Australia; she'll be about a month, apparently. But she's gone now, and she was the only thing that made it go away. Besides the cigarettes, of course. But they stopped working when I made them habit. So now they're not habit anymore. There's no escape, though, Sherlock. Even when I'm asleep, all I can see is you on the rooftop and you hitting the ground and your blood all over the street. –JW

Eleven months, three weeks and five days later:

4:44

I've made my mind up. I can't even go into work anymore, because the feeling came back and now it's worse than ever. It will never go away, will it? –JW

5:03

I can't live like this anymore, Sherlock. I really can't. I tried ringing Mary but her phone was turned off. That's it, now. I'm not going to try again. –JW

5:18

I'm not going to try anything at all ever again. –JW

Twelve months later:

12:01

Well, that's it. Today is your anniversary. It's only been it for one minute, and I'm crying already. I'm not sure when I really accepted that you were...well...but I know I always cried, right from the beginning. You are dead, Sherlock, aren't you? And you've been dead for a year. A year ago today, I was asleep right here, in this bed, in this room, in this house, in this city, and you were playing your violin and pacing and thinking about Moriarty and his _stupid fucking game_. That's all it ever was, isn't it? Just a game. Just a stupid game. –JW

1:04

I can't sleep, Sherlock. You used to play your violin when I couldn't sleep. I never knew if you always played it and I just didn't hear because I was sleeping, or if you knew I was awake. I'm awake now. Come home? –JW

3:19

I'm not going to sleep today. I'm not going to do anything. Just...exist. Maybe not even that. –JW

8:21

Right then. I've made my mind up. I know what I'm going to do. Not till four, though. Not till you did. –JW

2:26

It's strange, because I'm happier today than I've been in a long time. I think it's because I know all the sorrow and pain and grief and remorse and guilt is finally going to go away. Or maybe it's because I'll get to see you again. I hope I do. –JW

3:32

I can't stop pacing. Am I impatient or afraid? Either way, I'm waiting until 4:17. I have to. –JW

3:43

My hands have stopped shaking, Sherlock. When did that happen? I've only just noticed. –JW

3:46

And the limp's gone away. It's all going away. Everything. And I'm so happy about that. –JW

3:59

Ugh. I can't bear this waiting anymore. It's too much, it's killing me. And at the end of the waiting...that will kill me, too. It's strange how impatient I am for this all just to be over, now. –JW

4:01

I have my gun. It seemed the quickest, easiest thing. Messy, though. Apologise to Mrs Hudson for me, would you? I hope she doesn't have to clean this up. The police will, right? They better. Lestrade will make sure she's okay, I'm sure. –JW

4:13

Four minutes. I should write a note, but I don't want to now. I've said everything I needed to. –JW

4:14

It's so boring, waiting. –JW

4:15

My hands are shaking again. Fear, though, not boredom like before. I'll be okay. –JW

4:16

It's okay. I'm not afraid anymore. –JW

4:17

Goodbye, Sherlock. Thank you for being there before. For saving me before. You can't save everyone, though, and you can't save me now. I'll see you soon. –JW

4:17

This is me saving you, twelve months too late. Put the goddamn gun down and answer the door, John. –SH

4:17

Did you hear me? I'm alive, for god's sake. I'm at the front door. Answer it before Mrs Hudson does. She'll have a heart attack if she sees me here like this. –SH

4:18

John, I know you've read these. You haven't pulled the trigger yet, I'd have heard it. Or smelt it, if you had a silencer on it. Just open the damn door. –SH

4:19

You're alive? –JW

4:19

Well, obviously. Just open the door John. –SH

4:21

"Sherlock?"

"I'm here. It's really me...I promise."

"I missed you."

"I missed you too. Are you going to let me in, or what?"

"I hate you."

"I know."

"You bastard!"

"Yes."

"I'll...I'll punch you so hard-!"

"That's fine with me."

...

"Can I have a hug?"

"Of course."

"God, I missed you."

"I know, I know. I missed you too."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Coming back."

"Thank _you_."

"...For what?"

"Waiting for me, John."


End file.
